


Lavender and Pine

by paintpaw



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, Lesbian Character, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-22
Updated: 2018-05-21
Packaged: 2019-05-09 22:18:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14724629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paintpaw/pseuds/paintpaw
Summary: Their family was never the same again. None of them saw it coming. Bronislava and her sisters had resigned themselves to living in an isolated cabin for the rest of their lives. In 1972 they were freed and Bronislava finds that the world isn’t quite what she expected. But, maybe that’s not such a bad thing.





	Lavender and Pine

**Author's Note:**

> Are yous ready for some gorls in your team fortress? Gorls in love???
> 
> This is gonna take forever for me to finish, chapters will be slow but Trust Me I want this. Also I expect to see the Pauling/Bronislava tag filled by the end of this year snip snap everyone get on it
> 
> Languages other than English are indicated with "< >"

“<Not everything outside is as beautiful as the picturebooks say. I am sorry.>” Misha spoke softly in Russian.

 

The cool night air of the badlands felt almost warm to the pair of Russians. Bronislava stared up at the security camera, it’s factory red bleached pink from years in the desert sun. She sniffed, screwing up her face before speaking.

 

“<It’s not your fault, brother.>”

 

After Misha’s happy reunion with his team, nothing was ever the same again. Not for any of their family. Zhanna had toured with the team and was planning on doing the same again, while Yana had taken to New York.

 

Yet Bronislava had travelled to a France unlike the photographs she’d been shown. She came to a city that was hostile and depressed. At best it was a disappointment. At worst it was a disaster.

 

So with dented confidence, she returned to her older brother, still active in the States. She adjusted her grip on her suitcase.

 

“<Maybe next time you-- try someplace closer. Like Yana.>”

 

“< _You_ are the one who said America was a bad place for Russians. >” And now all of them were living there, even mama. Mikhail hadn’t said a word about France or Europe. Other than mentioning a great war between fascists.

 

Bronislava heard Misha give a long sigh. Then the crunch of gravel under heavy boots as he moved away. She screwed up her face again, she didn’t mean to be rude.

 

Reluctantly, Bronislava followed, quickly catching up to his slower strides. A long moment passed as they walked in silence. She glanced up at her brother, clad in his red-tinted uniform. Her hazel eyes spied flecks of dried blood on his flak jacket. It wasn’t until a giant hand came to pick at that spot, did she realise Misha had been watching her.

 

“<Is Zhanna here?>” Bronislava asked, looking up to her brother’s face.

 

“< _No.._. >” He looked away. “<Maybe. I do not know.>”

 

“<Oh.>”

 

They reached a metal door bolted into a whitewashed wall of the RED base. Misha punched a code into the number pad beside it. A buzz sounded and Mikhail pulled the door opened before stepping inside, Bronislava following.

 

Inside, the stillness of the night air was cut off and replaced with the artificial hum of energy within the base. Stone walls and floors painted crudely with peeling red paint.

 

“<What are we doing?>” She asked, her voice bouncing off the cold walls.

 

“<I will get you more money. But it is late. I will ask Miss Pauling if you can stay the night.>” Her brother’s voice dipped lower, obviously aware of the echo the concrete corridor gave. He began to walk.

 

Bronislava huffed. He could have told her that before now, but she kept quiet. There was no point in getting angry over it.

 

Despite that, bitterness was still evident in her voice as she followed him again. “<Who’s Miss Pauling?>”

 

“<My boss.>”

 

That silenced the younger sibling, eyebrows raised. It had just then occurred to her that this was Misha’s job. His American job that stole him away for months at a time. With guns and money and attractive other mercenaries that Bronislava had seen photographs of.

 

She grinned. This boss should be interesting.

 

They had to be bigger than Misha--stronger too. Perhaps a mafia boss, like she’d seen comics about. Or a supervillain? Bronislava’s mind could only wander as they walked.

 

So it was a surprise to see that her big brother’s boss turned out to be a very tiny woman, neatly dressed in a shirt and skirt. Bronislava was almost disappointed--until this tiny woman addressed fearlessly addressed Mikhail.

 

“Look Heavy,” Miss Pauling started out exasperated. She didn’t even come up to Misha’s shoulders. “If this was anybody else, I would have already sent them home.”

 

Misha grunted in acknowledgement of this.

 

“And you just brought her here!” She threw a hand out in Bronislava’s direction. Close enough to her face for Bronislava to see the chips in her purple nail polish. “Without telling me?”

 

“This was not plan.” Mikhail held up one placating hand, speaking in careful, simple English. “I did not know she was coming--”

 

“That’s not my fault.” Bronislava cut in.

 

Though, in hindsight, it was her fault. Bullheaded, she’d taken off spontaneously. Hastily packing her suitcase and jumping on a plane. Misha had only found out when she used a payphone to tell him after touchdown.

 

Miss Pauling’s head whipped towards the taller woman, surprise colouring her features. She studied Bronislava for a moment before sighing, turning back to Misha.

 

“One night, Heavy. The Administrator never has to know.”

 

“Thank you, Miss Pauling.”

 

“But we can not keep hosting for your sisters.”

 

Before Misha could respond, she spoke up again.

 

“I mean--This _is_ your sister, right?” Miss Pauling’s eyes darted between them, “You two do look pretty similar.”

 

Despite the five inches of height between them, and over a decade in years, Bronislava knew she looked more like her brother than her sisters. The pair of them apparently favoured their father. Square-jawed and pointed nose.

 

Not that Bronislava would know what _he_ looked like.

 

“Not that it’s bad I mean--you’re all siblings, of course you look the same.” Pauling shook her head as if clearing it. She took a breath in and refocused on them. “She needs somewhere to sleep.”

 

“Yes.” Misha replied bluntly.

 

“And I’m too busy.”

 

“I see.”

 

“Find her somewhere to sleep.”

 

“Oh.”

 

There was a brief moment of silence as Misha’s eyes drifted for a second, staring into space as he thought. Miss Pauling glanced between them both.

 

After a moment, Misha grunted and nodded. He gave Bronislava a “Stay here.” Before taking off without another word.

 

Bronislava’s eyes stayed fixed on the back of her brother’s head as he wandered down the hall. She was aware of the smaller woman moving beside her, though the Russian wasn’t sure if she was fidgeting or working.

 

Only when Misha disappeared--and his footsteps were no longer audible--did she face the woman again.

 

As it were, she was working. At least, that’s what Bronislava could guess. Clipboard in hand, rummaging through a crate of weapons.

 

“What are you doing?” Bronislava asked.

 

The woman’s hands stilled as she glanced over her shoulder at the Russian. “Me?”

 

Bronislava frowned, “Yes. You.”

 

“Oh--I’m just _working_.” She straightened and brushed off her skirt. “You know, taking stock. Boring stuff.”

 

As Bronislava considered this, she understood what taking stock was. Like what her and Yana would do with their food supplies.

 

“Excuse me but--you’re the _youngest_ , right?” Miss Pauling interrupted her thoughts. Her tone changed, lost its formality. Bronislava raised her eyebrows.

 

“Of my family? Yes.”

 

“ _Wow_. I mean--”

 

“Why?” Bronislava cut in, raising a suspicious eyebrow.

 

“Well, I met one of your sisters--Zhanna?” Miss Pauling’s hand flinched up to her glasses as green eyes darted away. “She--doesn’t _like_ me so much.”

 

The Russian blinked. Was this the infamous ‘man-stealer’ Zhanna had told her about? She doubted it.

 

Although, Zhanna did have a habit of exaggerating the truth. Especially when it came to that Soldier.

 

Miss Pauling continued. “But Heavy--your brother--has kinda kept the rest of you pretty elusive. Even after everything.”

 

“He does.” Bronislava agreed. “His friends are surprised to see that we are not babies. But we are raised in Siberia. We are as strong as them.”

 

Pauling laughed, a little awkwardly. Catching Bronislava’s questioning gaze, she spoke up. “Sorry. Siberia sounds pretty rough.”

 

“Oh.” She hesitated for a moment. “No. Just boring.”

 

A silence stretched between them. Bronislava thrust her hands into her jacket and glanced down the hall once again. It was hard to tell how big the base was, let alone what was on it. She hadn’t even considered finding somewhere to sleep before she left. She just needed to get away.

 

“You know, sometimes I wish I had that.” Miss Pauling broke the silence.

 

The taller woman was quick to reply. She didn’t even look back. “No. You don’t.”

 

“Oh.” The surprise was evident in Pauling’s voice. “Well I mean, I only get one day off a year. It’s kinda-- _something_.”

 

“Day off? From work you mean.” Bronislava turned back towards Pauling, confused. “Just one?”

 

“Yeah. I did get a break before but--guess I’m too much of a workaholic.”

 

There was a pause as Bronislava considered this, not wanting to admit she didn’t know what a ‘workaholic’ was. She looked Miss Pauling up and down.

 

“What _do_ you do?” She asked.

 

The smaller woman hesitated. “I can’t really tell you everything but, like your brother. But with a smaller gun and more work.”

 

“Oh.” Bronislava frowned, piecing things together in her mind. “Is this what all Americans do?”

 

She laughed, a soft chuckle. “Oh, no not all Americans.”

 

“ _Most_ of them, yes.” A third voice cut in.

 

To Bronislava, the voice was easily recognisable as her brother’s. But Miss Pauling jumped. One hand flew behind her back as she glared at the offending speaker.

 

A sigh of relief escaped her as her features softened. “Please don’t do that.”

 

Misha held up a hand, “I am sorry. I have found a place.”

 

The younger Russian frowned, reached forward and plucked a white feather from her brother’s flak jacket. “It is not in the attic, is it?”

 

“No no.” Misha shifted as he began to move back the way he came. “This way.”

 

Flicking the feather out of her hand, Bronislava was about to resign herself to following her brother once more. Before she could,  she heard a second pair of footsteps catch up to them. She glanced down to find Miss Pauling, turning to a fresh page on her clipboard.

 

“I better come too.” She answered Bronislava’s questioning gaze without looking up. “Just so I know where you’ll be.”

 

“Oh. Alright.”

 

“Can’t have you getting lost in the base. God, what would the Administrator think of that…” Her voice trailed off. Bronislava decided it was best not to reply.

 

The three of them didn’t walk the identical halls for long before Misha’s confident strides slowed, then halted altogether in front of a set of double doors. He turned back as if he were about to say something, but settled instead on giving Bronislava a hard look.

 

A look that told her ‘ _be ready_ ’.

 

Misha pushed open the double doors.

 

What greeted them was a man as tall as Bronislava, clad in a dirty lab coat and thick rubber gloves. He looked Bronislava in the eye with a piercing stare as a toothy grin split his face. The younger Russian’s back stiffened. She’d seen him in photos, but never in the flesh.

 

“Doktor has spare beds.” Misha started, nodding his head towards the man. “He will let you use one.”

 

“In return for letting me open up your chest cavity, Herr Heavy.” The doctor’s accent was strange, coupled with a voice an octave higher then Bronislava was expecting. He sounded far too happy about that.

 

“His what?”

 

“Chest cavity!” Medic chirped as though there were nothing wrong with that.

 

Bronislava stared incredulously up at her brother, who ignored her. Instead, she turned to the only other person in the room, Miss Pauling, who could only offer her a helpless smile and a shrug.

 

It dawned on Bronislava that Misha’s work was very different from his home life. While she wasn’t exactly adverse to murder and violence, there was something unnerving about seeking it out with such glee.

 

That, and she was beginning to catch the smell of antiseptic, blood and _something else_. Wrinkling her nose, Bronislava glanced around and for the first time, caught sight of the rafters. Moreover, what appeared to be living up there.

 

Birds. Pearly white pigeons, at least a dozen of them.

 

Bronislava felt the dozens of beady eyes watching her from the rafters. The birds shuffled, craning their tiny necks to get a better look at the stranger. One spread its wings and fluttered down, landing noisily on the doctor’s shoulder.

 

The doctor nodded to the bird in acknowledgement--and for a moment Bronislava could have sworn that the bird nodded back.

 

“<Here?>” She hissed in Russian.

 

“<He is a good man.>” Misha jumped to defend an argument Bronislava hadn’t yet accused him of. He backpedalled. “<I mean--he has lots of spare beds. And I checked them.>”

 

That wasn’t reassuring either. Especially coupled with how strange Misha acted on the base. He didn’t act like this at home. He didn’t dumb down his language or trust people who openly wished to cut into him.

 

Then again, if _Misha_ trusted him, she had no reason not to.

 

“Come, my child, this way!” Medic called. His body language sprung to life, hands flying out from behind him to clap together. He took off down the medical bay with a flurry of his lab coat. Misha patted his sister’s shoulder, then followed after him.

 

Bronislava watched them go. Her patience was running thin with today.

 

“Come on,” Miss Pauling stepped ahead of the Russian. “The doctor’s pretty fast.”

 

Already sick of following, Bronislava was quick to catch up and walk alongside Miss Pauling. She realised that this was the most normal person on the base, other than herself and Misha.

 

The pair caught up to Misha and Medic at a second set of double doors. As they approached, Medic shoved open both double doors and practically lunged inside. The trio heard a muffled “Ta-da!” as the doors flapped shut behind him.

 

Misha chuckled, catching a door as it swung back and holding it open.

 

Inside was what appeared to be a small ward, with only four beds to fill it. Unsurprising, as Bronislava remembered that the team was only made of nine.

 

Medic spun to face Bronislava as she entered, wide eyed and grinning still.

 

“You can pick whatever one you like, my child.”

 

“I am not a child.”

 

Those blue eyes somehow got wider. “No no, of course you’re not! Look at you, fully grown!” Medic replied with the enthusiasm of a child’s entertainer.

 

“Thank you, doktor.” Misha spoke up from behind her. The doctor beamed.

 

Bronislava stepped past Medic into the ward. She tossed her bag down at the bed furthest from the door and stared at it. After a moment, she walked up to the bedside table and flicked on a desk lamp. The whole thing had been freshly dusted.

 

Misha had moved and stood at the foot of her new bed in silence. Both of them waited for the other to speak first. Eventually, Bronislava heard Misha take a breath in.

 

“<Do you want me to stay for a while.>”

 

Another silence. Broken only by Bronislava kicking off her shoes.

 

“<I’m tired.>” She sat down on the bed, it creaked under her weight. She took the hat from her head and covered her face with her hands. “<I will talk to you in the morning, Misha.>”

 

“<I understand.>” Misha replied softly. Bronislava could already hear his boots on the tiles as he moved away. “<Sleep well.>”

 

“<And you.>”

 

Bronislava listened to the heavy boots pace away from her. She heard the hushed chatter from the doctor, talking too quickly and quietly for her to process. Then she heard the double doors flap as the pair of them left.

 

She sighed. This whole day was a mess.

 

“Hey--”

The Russian jumped at the voice, sitting bolt upright. She found herself staring at Miss Pauling, who looked sheepish.

 

“Oh--uh sorry.” She grimaced. “I _probably_ should of announced myself.”

 

Bronislava took several deep breaths, not breaking eye contact with Miss Pauling. She’d completely forgotten the small woman had followed them in. “What?”

 

Miss Pauling adjusted her glasses, hugging the clipboard close to her chest with one hand. “I was just gonna say, I’ll-- _check in on you_ \--in the morning.”

 

When Bronislava frowned, the American reiterated. “Medic’s not a bad guy. Well--he kinda _is_ but-- I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t try to experiment on you, seeing as you’re Heavy’s sister but-- I just wanna make sure. We’re not used to _civilians_ here.”

 

“Oh.” Bronislava glanced towards the double doors, wary. “Right.”

 

“But seriously, don’t worry about him.” She insisted.

 

The Russian only answered with a hum. The man did concern her, if only because of the way Misha behaved around him. Too trusting. Too nice. He offered the man the same tone that he gave to their sisters.

 

“Well..” Pauling had already begun to back up. “Goodnight.”

 

“Goodnight, Miss Pauling”

 

This time, when those double doors flapped shut, Bronislava glanced around the room just to make sure she was really alone this time. Satisfied, she flopped back. With her head on the pillow, she stared up into the dimly lit rafters.

 

The birds could probably get in there, she noted.

 

After what felt like hours of staring into space thinking, Bronislava willed herself to actually get ready for bed.

 

Tomorrow it’d be better. Tomorrow she’d get another shot at this brave new world.

  



End file.
